


A Matter of Timing

by apolloadama



Series: The Matter with Werewolves [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Comeplay, Dominance, Edging, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Mild Voyeurism, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pack Dynamics, Scent Marking, Submission, close!!!, eventual Sterek (in next part), not really a threesome but close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolloadama/pseuds/apolloadama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knew it was only a matter of time before Derek turned Danny. He had been too clever about the edited camera footage and too helpful about computer hacking, and these two things meant that 1) Danny knew about werewolves, and 2) Derek found Danny useful. There was really only one possible outcome to this situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Timing

Stiles knew it was only a matter of time before Derek turned Danny. He had been too clever about the edited camera footage and too helpful about computer hacking, and these two things meant that 1) Danny knew about werewolves, and 2) Derek found Danny useful. There was really only one possible outcome to this situation. 

So he's ready when, a week after their last run-in with Scary Mama Argent, he sees Danny walking away with Erica, Isaac and Boyd after school. And he only has to wait a few seconds before Scott predictably comes running over to him pointing and whispering nervous things with the words "dude" and "werewolf!" and "Danny????" in them. 

"I don't think you can stop him, Scott. Look how well you did convincing Boyd," Stiles says absently, watching Danny disappear around a corner with the three betas. 

"Boyd was different. He wanted to  _belong_ to something. Danny doesn’t need that.”

And that—

“That’s actually a good point,” Stiles muses, not reacting to the hurt noise Scott makes, still contemplating…  

“So what do we do?” Scott demands, and Stiles raises his hands up defensively.

“I don’t know! Danny’s not an idiot, and he’s not weak, either. He won’t just go into it blind, he’ll have thought about it. Go bare your fangs at him if it’ll make you feel better, but _you’re_ not going to be the deciding factor here.”

_So what was?_

Scott runs off to do werewolf things, and Stiles spends the rest of the afternoon thinking it over.  

-

He’s still thinking it over when he gets a call from Scott about how he’s “too late” and “Danny just laughed at me” and something about “help with Jackson,” which, oh. Right. Finding out your best friend is a psychotic reptilian murderer sometimes might freak a guy out, maybe make him want some supernatural juju of his own. 

Stiles gets that. When Peter Hale had offered him the bite, he’d wavered, almost accepted it, for just a second. Because it would have helped Scott. But it wasn’t the right … time? Thing? Reason? Person? Stiles doesn’t know. He tries not to think about it. 

Still, unless Danny was secretly in love with Jackson (which sets Stiles’ brain off on a one-way trip to _stop fantasizing about that, stop that, stop that right now_ ), becoming a werewolf was kind of overkill, wasn’t it? Changing your entire life, forever, for your best friend? Stiles loves Scott, but not enough to throw everything away for him. 

So the next day he (very stupidly) corners Danny (shirtless, Stiles notes, not that it’s important, _definitely not important_ ) in the locker room and asks him, flat-out, 

“So, why’d you do it?”

Danny raises an eyebrow at him and stretches his arms above his head, the muscles in his biceps bulging in really unfair ways. “Do what?” he asks back lazily.

Stiles rolls his eyes and steps forward, causing Danny to make a face and lean back away from him. “Why’d you agree to be a werewolf, dude?”

Danny snorts. “What’s it to you?” He leans over to stretch out his back and Stiles isn’t sure why his mouth drops open and his eyes don’t waver from the line that curves in a slant around Danny’s side from his back to his stomach, but he’s positive it has nothing to do with wanting to run his finger along it to see if Danny’s ticklish.

“I… uh.” Stiles digs the fingernails of one hand into his palm to focus. “The alpha… the one before Derek, he offered to do it,” Stiles says, putting a little truth into his lie. “I said no, and I… I wanted to know why…”

Danny sighs and sits down on the bench, one leg on either side of it. Straddling it. Stiles purposely doesn’t think about it ( _nope_ ), just sits down next to him. 

“All right, fine.” Danny looks around to make sure there are no prying ears and then relaxes and rolls his shoulders back, stretching them out. “Basically, I thought I’d make a good addition.”

Stiles gapes. “What?”

“I’m smart, I’m strong, I’m a lot more fucking subtle than the rest of you idiots, and if there’s going to be a pack of werewolves running around solving crimes—”

“That’s not really what they do…”

“—I think I should be part of it,” Danny continues. “It’s better for everyone if I am.”

“For everyone? Like, Jackson?” Stiles asks, flinching just in case Danny decides to hit him.

But not Danny. He just shrugs. “He’s part of it. But mostly? I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m an awesome person to have on your team. I’m a goalie, you know? I keep things from going in the net. I keep things from going to shit. And I don’t run around making bad decisions like—”

“Like Scott.”

“Like Scott and Erica and Boyd and even _Derek_.” Danny stops, reflects, then adds, “Isaac hasn’t messed up too bad yet.” 

“Wow. You are. Something else,” Stiles says, raising his eyebrows. “How’s Derek feel about that attitude?”

Something flickers across Danny’s face, but he hides it quickly and just tilts his head back. “We work well together.”

“‘Work well together’?” Stiles asks in disbelief, doing air quotes. “He’s your _alpha_ , not your _partner_ —” 

“I’m done talking to you now, Stiles,” Danny says, then gets up and drops his shorts on the way to the showers. Stiles very carefully doesn’t stare at the way Danny’s broad shoulders narrow neatly into a trim waist and hips, highlighted by—

“That ass,” Stiles breathes, and he definitely, definitely only means that Danny is kind of an ass. It’s completely unrelated to the rounded firm cheeks he watches disappear into the steam of the showers. With visual distractions out of the way, Stiles considers what he’s been told, and now he has a separate, different worry: what is Derek going to do when he figures out his new beta is definitely more of an alpha? 

-

It’s a few days later, and Scott’s being a moron, as usual, but he needs Stiles to tell Derek something Argent-related and thus Very Important And Absolutely Can’t Wait, so Stiles begrudgingly drives his jeep to the warehouse he knows Derek has been training the betas in. Scott can’t do it himself because of Allison-related problems, but there’s not really an emergency, just—timing issues.

_Speaking of timing issues._

Stiles slips into the warehouse and immediately hears what he assumes is the sound of the betas play-fighting with each other, but then there’s this low moan that cascades into a whimper and that’s decidedly _not_ a violent sound. He pokes his head around a corner and sees—

_“Holy shit.”_

It’s Danny making the noises, and he’s completely naked and half-sitting, half-lying down with his knees pulled up slightly, sweat accentuating every line and crevice of his body, his cock hard and thick and it’s—not Danny’s hand on it, it’s Derek, Danny is lying back in Derek’s lap, between Derek’s legs, and Derek is holding Danny’s arms behind his back with one hand and slowly pumping his cock with the other. 

They freeze, though, when they hear Stiles and their eyes lock on him, and Stiles wants nothing more than to explode into a million pieces and fly into the sun, but all he can do is swallow and lick his lips, his breath coming out in a pant, his dick starting to get hard in his pants and why? _Why?_ _Why is that happening?_

After three long seconds that expand in either direction to infinity, Derek looks back down at Danny’s face and growls, causing Danny to jerk and rip his eyes from Stiles’ face, looking back up into Derek’s. He’s almost _glowing_ , looking up at Derek, and it’s with a weird sort of devotion Stiles has never seen on anyone’s face, except maybe Scott’s when he’s doing his dopey-puppy-dog-eyes at Allison, and Stiles is intrigued. 

He takes a step closer, cautiously, not wanting to spook them ( _they’re werewolves, not horses_ , Stiles’ brain supplies helpfully), and then another, and then he can’t move anymore because Derek is fisting Danny and moving his hand _so slowly_ and it looks like agony, he’s not even exerting any pressure, just loosely circling Danny’s cock in his fingers. Danny is whimpering again, his toes curling and feet twisting into the floor, but he never tears his eyes away from Derek’s face. Stiles can see the muscles in Danny’s arms bulge with the effort of trying to break away from Derek, but he can also tell Danny doesn’t _really_ want to be let go. He’s letting Derek pin him where he is, letting Derek have complete control. Something clicks for Stiles.

Derek stares down intently into Danny’s face and watches him with what Stiles can only think to describe as _dominance_ , like he’s taking account of every inch of Danny’s face so he can catalogue it into “things that are mine” later, and Stiles has this weird, surreal moment where he kind of wishes someone would look at _him_ like that. Not Derek.

Maybe Derek.

Derek is still barely giving Danny anything, sometimes removing his hand from Danny’s cock altogether, letting it bob and drip precum onto Danny’s stomach as Danny arches his hips up off the floor trying to get contact again from Derek’s hand. Derek just shakes his head down at Danny and Stiles watches as Danny completely gives in, _submits_ , Stiles thinks, and stops struggling, stops lifting his hips, lets Derek give him more when Derek is ready to give him more. After a few tortuous moments of this, Derek finally grips Danny again and is pumping him with speed and pressure, and Stiles really can’t help it when he sticks his own hand into his pants and curls his fingers around his own dick, trying to jerk himself off even with boxers and jeans still on. 

Stiles can see Danny coming to his orgasm, can almost feel it himself, the heat twisting up in his belly and every inch of him trembling with anticipation, Danny’s eyes screwing shut and hips jutting up helplessly, fucking into Derek’s hand, and then he’s—

Derek stops, takes his hand away completely again, and Danny collapses, sobs, the noise he makes like a hurt animal. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” Danny is saying over and over again, begging for it, and it’s like a mantra, like _please_ is the only word in Danny’s brain, the only possible conscious thought he can have in that moment, and Stiles realizes he’s stilled the hand on his own dick, too, possibly out of respect for the agony Danny is in.

_“Look at me,”_ Derek says to Danny, his voice a snarl, and Danny looks up into his face, but he’s not focusing on him, his eyes somewhere else, glassy, distant. Stiles watches as Danny’s hips jerk up in little half-aborted efforts at getting friction somehow. He’s totally gone.

Suddenly, Derek moves, leaving Danny to lie flat on his back and then getting on top of him, quick to push Danny’s arms up over his head and trapping his wrists in one hand, and then he lowers himself down, one inch, two, until he’s pressed onto Danny’s body, chest against chest, stomach on stomach, Danny’s cock and Derek’s cock slick and tight together between their bodies. Derek ruts down against Danny and Danny cries out, eyes immediately focusing onto Derek’s face, and Stiles has forgotten how to breathe.

Derek’s free hand moves up and around to cradle Danny’s head and then he threads his fingers into Danny’s hair and makes a fist, tugging his face up and back, exposing his neck. Derek bites down onto Danny’s clavicle, then just mouths little nibbles against the long expanse of Danny’s neck, and all the while he’s thrusting, thrusting down into Danny, and Danny can’t get traction, can’t do anything, can’t contribute at all, can just lie there and take it, a blissed out look on his face. 

Derek bites onto the corner of Danny’s jaw and stays there, teeth sure to leave a mark, but Danny is moaning and Stiles is fisting himself again, so close to coming and he knows Danny has to be close too, _has to be_ — 

_“Now,”_ Derek growls against Danny’s jaw, and Danny _arches_ and he’s coming, coming so hard, spurting in thick white strings between his chest and Derek’s, and Stiles thrusts up two more times into his own hand and comes too, groaning at the release. Derek still has his teeth on Danny’s jaw, but he lets go and licks a stripe up Danny’s neck before nuzzling his face into him and Danny trembles under Derek as Derek ruts down into him again, again, _again_ —Danny has to be oversensitive, has to be, it has to be _too much_ —but he just keeps his eyes on Derek’s face, that same devoted expression in his face, and then Derek comes, all over Danny’s chest and stomach while he worries into his neck, marking him. _Marking him_ , Stiles thinks again, and the jolt that thought sends to his soft dick isn’t helpful. 

He doesn’t know what to do, now that everyone has had an orgasm and Derek and Danny are just lying there in a heap of sweat and come. Stiles starts to back away, intending to go home and beat off again to what just happened ( _that just happened!!!_ ) and change his underwear, but he hears Derek say, 

“Stiles.”

And Stiles has to stop moving. Derek is still lying on top of Danny, rubbing his face against Danny’s neck in a very casual way, adding little bites every once in a while, then licking over them. The bite mark on Danny’s jaw is already healing, and Stiles wonders if Derek ever leaves physical marks, or if it’s all by scent and emotion. 

_“Stiles,”_ Derek says again, and this time Stiles steps forward, moves to just a few feet away from the two of them and, for some reason, sits down on the floor. 

One of Derek’s hands is still twisted into Danny’s hair, and he keeps his grip there as he lets Danny’s arms loose, and slowly sits up. Danny doesn’t move, keeps his arms where they were and shifts so he’s still pressed up against Derek’s side when Derek moves to sit on the floor next to him. Derek lets go of his hair. Danny’s, ostensibly, free— _but that’s not really how this works, is it?_ Stiles wonders.

“You will not tell anyone about this,” Derek says, and Stiles darts a glance at him, gauging how much sarcasm he can use before Derek literally rips his throat out. 

“You mean about the time I jerked myself off watching two other guys go at it?” Stiles asks, shrugging. “I mean, that’s a party story if there ever was one.”

A low rumble comes out of Derek’s chest—not quite a growl, but definitely not a chuckle. Stiles tries not to flinch. 

Danny reacts differently, twisting his body around, keeping his stomach exposed while moving his head into Derek’s lap, nosing against his thighs and making small noises Stiles decides not to remember ( _or,_ _well…_ ). 

Derek breathes in deep through his nose, trying not to get angry at Stiles. He absentmindedly moves one of his hands to card through Danny’s hair, and Stiles can _tell_ when both Derek and Danny relax into the motion. 

“No, I won’t tell anyone about this,” Stiles says. 

“That’s for the best for _all of us_ ,” Derek says, glaring at Stiles. “The other betas will know,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. 

“Oh?” Stiles squeaks.

“Scent,” Derek says gruffly, as if that explains everything, and Stiles supposes it does. Derek has definitely marked Danny as his own. Definitely. Stiles saw that happen. Yep.

“So… can I leave?” Stiles asks. 

Danny shifts in Derek’s lap, one of his hands curling around Derek’s side, and Derek looks down at him, the look on his face— _fond_. 

“Yeah, it’s time for you to leave now,” Derek says, but he’s not really paying attention to Stiles anymore. 

He’s smiling down at Danny, sliding his fingers down Danny’s chest, rubbing the come into his skin ( _marking him_ ) in a gesture that is equal parts hot, gross, and loving, and Stiles feels like he wants to watch more of this wolfy bonding but he also doesn’t want to die, so he carefully gets up off the ground and backs out of the warehouse. 

When Stiles climbs back into his jeep, he pauses, both hands on the steering wheel, just staring into the distance. So that’s how Derek’s keeping Danny in a beta position. _Submission_ , Stiles thinks. _It’s not just fear._

Finally he shakes off his stupor, mutters, “Well, it was only a matter of time,” and starts the engine. 

It’s not until he’s three miles down the road that he realizes, _Shit! I never told Derek about the Argents._

Oh well. Fuck it. Stiles is going home and beating off again. Maybe he doesn’t get to be included in sexy pack bonding, but he’ll be damned if he can’t fantasize about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> There is a sore lack of Danny/Derek(/Stiles) in this fandom and so I thought I'd do my part for the cause. 
> 
> update 8/2/12: I'm working on a sequel! Should be out in the next few days.


End file.
